Sixteen
by Maxwell Dilaurentis
Summary: Most of this is just a compilation of caisha702's Love is a Battlefield and xoClovely's The Hunger Games District 2. Sorry to have not added this earlier.


**MOST OF THIS IS A COMPILATION OF CAISHA702'S LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD AND XOCLOVELY'S THE HUNGER GAMES DISTRICT 2!**

Chapter Sixteen

I have become a good judge of time since I came to the arena, much better than I ever was at home, back when I only cared that I rose at dawn so I wasn't late for training. That means that I can tell it's at least two hours before dawn when we reach the familiar part of the forest that surrounds the Cornucopia. We had rushed here, thinking that it would take us all night to reach the place where the feast will be held, but we must have been closer than I thought and shouldn't have bothered.

"All we can do now is wait," I say, coming to a halt and turning to look up at Cato. "There's no point looking for anyone until the feast starts."

He seems to agree as he sinks to the floor at the base of the nearest tree and pulls me down with him, holding me against him so we both stay warm despite the Gamemaker-induced freezing temperature. I want to talk but I don't know what to say. I wouldn't know where to begin so instead I simply cling to the fact that in a few short hours this nightmare could all be over, we could finally be allowed to go home. I close my eyes and listen to the slow, steady rhythm of Cato's heartbeat, imagining I'm not in the arena at all but that I'm actually curled up in his room at the Training Centre, back in the familiar bed that's so small it only just holds me as well as him.

When I open my eyes again I can see the first hint of dawn in the sky through the trees. I could almost laugh as I abruptly realise that we very nearly missed the feast. What would District 2 think? Two of the most formidable fighters in the history of our Training Centre not attending a Hunger Games feast because we were asleep at the time. I don't think we would be very popular. Besides, it is time to get this over with.

Cato has always held me as tightly in his sleep as he does when he's awake, and now is no exception. When I whisper his name to wake him, he just turns slightly and pulls me even closer.

"Cato, wake up," I say, speaking louder this time. "It's dawn. We have to go."

He loosens his grip enough for me to be able to look up at him, and when I do, he leans down to kiss me. "I will go if you want to stay here."

"Have you ever known me to back away from a fight?" I retort, and he shakes his head without breaking our eye contact. "It's the best way, I know you can see that. What's the point of going together and having the other tributes flee the Cornucopia while Katniss shoots at us with Glimmer's arrows? You might think you are but you're not indestructible."

"Neither are you. I should be watching your back."

"More like I should be watching yours," I reply, only half joking and immediately side-stepping that particular discussion. I still remember the blind rage that possessed him when the supplies were destroyed and I cannot help but think that the Games have changed him as subtly but irreversibly as they have changed me. It pains me to see it and I know that the longer we stay in here the worse it will get. "Don't underestimate Lysandra if you see her." He opens his mouth to voice the disagreement that is written all over his face but I reach up and put my finger to his lips. "Just trust me."

"Always," he replies, cupping my face in his hands and staring at me with the same fierce intensity that I still clearly remember from the night before they brought us here.

I close my eyes and he lightly runs his thumbs over them. I can feel every scar and callus on his skin, all there as a result of years of fighting, all a direct contradiction to this uncharacteristic gentleness, which brings a lump to my throat and makes me realise that we will both miss the feast if I am unable to tear myself away from him.

"I have to go. We have to try, you know that."

He nods, accepting the knife I hand to him as I check the carefully altered lining of my jacket that contains at least a dozen more, and I watch as he puts it into his pocket before I turn to walk away. I don't get far, as before I can take more than one step, he yanks me back towards him, lifting me up and leaning me back against the tree under which we had slept as he kisses me. The rough bark digs uncomfortably into my back but I couldn't care less. Nothing is certain in the Hunger Games, and even though neither of us have dared to talk about it, we both know this could be the last time we ever see each other. Only when I lift my legs up and wrap them around his waist to support myself does he stop, smiling against my lips as he pushes me gently away and lowers me back to the ground.

"Enough, or I'll never let you go," he says as he pushes me lightly in the direction of the Cornucopia. "Remember your promise," he calls after me less than a second later.

I am unable to stop myself from turning back to look at him, and he remains standing beneath the tree, still as powerfully built and imposing as he was when we left home but with the pale first light of dawn highlighting the torn and filthy clothes he wears. He hates those clothes, and even though he never told me so himself and I didn't ask, I know it is because of the memories they make him recall, memories of the boy he used to be before he became the man I love. He smiles that painfully familiar half-smile that is forever etched into my mind and I realise that I have never loved him more than I do now. I remember what I promised but I know that I will only call him if I think he can save me. No matter what I told him, I wouldn't ever call him to his death even if remaining silent resulted in mine.

I walk through the trees until I can see the Cornucopia, then I make my way around to the other side so I can see the entrance, always remaining well concealed in the trees. As the front of the golden horn comes into view, a table bearing four backpacks clicks into place before it. I notice a large black one marked with the number 2 but I swiftly look away. Whatever Claudius Templesmith said, that's not what I'm here for.

I see a flash of coppery-red as a small figure darts out of the Cornucopia and grabs a green bag from the feast table before I even register what I'm seeing. Lyssandra. How like her to come up with a strategy like that. Maybe Marvel wasn't that far wrong when he called her the 'fox-girl', the only difference being that I would use the nickname in reference to her sly and cunning nature as well as her appearance. I watch as she races for the woods, heading straight towards Cato, and find myself hoping that he remembers what I told him.

Then all thoughts of the girl from District 5 are abruptly banished from my mind as I see a sudden movement in the corner of my left eye and turn to watch Katniss heading for the table as fast as her legs will take her.

I sprint forwards, my hand instinctively reaching into my jacket for the nearest knife as I go, letting it fly towards the dark-haired girl from the coal district before she gets as far as the table. I quickly see that I was right about her being able to use the bow, because she deflects my knife with it at the last second, stringing an arrow in the same movement and firing it directly at me.

I quickly conclude that archery must be more than part of the reason for her training score, because she possesses the same deadly accuracy with the bow as I do with my knives. I turn to avoid the arrow but I am not quite fast enough and it sinks deep into my arm. Forcing myself to stay focussed on the positive, I tell myself to be grateful that it's my left one and not my right as I struggle to block out the pain which results from pulling the weapon out. I briefly look down to watch the steady stream of blood seeping from the wound but I don't have time to do anything about it now because Katniss already has her backpack.

She pulls the tiny orange thing onto her arm as I pull a second knife from my jacket, ignoring the painful protest from my left arm at the movement, and I quickly throw it at her before she can turn to fire an arrow at me.

I get her this time and I clearly see the blade slash across her head, fighting the stab of annoyance I feel that it was a glancing blow and not a direct hit. I care nothing for how they die anymore. All that matters is that it's quick so I can get out of here. Katniss staggers backwards as I continue to race towards her, and she is so far off her mark when she fires her next arrow that it wouldn't have come close to hitting me had I been Cato's size.

I slam into her, using my momentum to make up for my lack of strength and weight, and she falls flat onto her back with me on top of her, my knees pressing into her shoulders. Just like Cassia taught me at home, I think, smiling at the memory despite the situation. She had been barely taller and heavier than me when she had won her Games, and she never said so but I know that she took pride in my success by how she went out of her way to help me despite her famously prickly nature. I had only been twelve or thirteen when she had instructed me to always remember exactly how difficult it is for a person to get up if they can't lift their neck and shoulders, but I did as she said and never forgot her lesson. The first time I had seen the old woman laugh was when she made me practice on Cato when he bravely but stupidly told her she was talking rubbish and that there was no way I could hold him down. Even now I can still clearly see the looks on both of their faces when she was proved right.

I look into Katniss's eyes, seeing a mixture of fear and defiance, but with a lot more of the latter than I am used to. Her eyes are grey, like mine but darker, and her skin is a pale olive colour that is nothing like Cato's. It is the first time I have ever really looked at the girl who has been my greatest competition ever since the day of the reaping, the girl who very nearly ruined my life with her fabricated love story, and I realise that I have just enough hatred left to at least even out the balance between fear and defiance a little before she dies.

"Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?" I ask harshly, deciding to test my theory about the Capitol healing Peeta.

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato," she snarls in reply with aggression worthy of my district not hers.

I can't resist a smile at the thought of Peeta hunting Cato though. Give it less than five seconds of my lover realising Peeta is in a position to hunt anyone and the boy from the coal district will swiftly become the hunted instead of the hunter.

"Peeta!" screams Katniss, her voice echoing around the plain even when I punch my fist hard into her throat to silence her. I look up and scan the trees just in case Lover Boy is about to prove my far-fetched theory true, but I soon realise that she's bluffing.

"Liar," I snarl back, replying to her with as much venom in my voice as had been in hers. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

I open my jacket slowly and deliberately as I select a knife, as unable to resist tormenting her as I have been any of my other opponents who have tried to defy me in the past. I have every intention of slitting her throat, hearing her cannon sound and then going to find Cato, but she doesn't know that.

"I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show."

I have made Cato a lot of promises over the past couple of days, meaning every last one of them, but I can say with absolute certainty that none of them involved Katniss Everdeen. I know he wants her dead as much as I do but I think we both agree that if we have any scores to settle then they are well away from this arena. But once again, she doesn't know that, and as the implication of what I just said sinks in, she begins to struggle. Not that it gets her far. She doesn't have the strength.

"Forget it, District 12. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally…what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound? Now, where to start?"

I thought I would hit a nerve by referring to the girl from District 11, and from the look on her face it is plain to see I was right. I scan the surrounding area one more time as I wipe the blood from her face with the already filthy sleeve of my jacket, before tilting her head from one side to the other, watching her terror increase. Her defiance continues as she attempts to bite my hand, and I secretly admire her courage as I pull her away by her hair.

That will do, I decide. I have what I want and she didn't prevent it in the end. Her and Peeta's stunt at the interviews probably did us a favour in the end, as they would certainly have influenced the Gamemakers' decision to implement the rule change as much as Cato and I. Enough is enough. I lower my knife down to her face, running the very tip of the blade along the outside of her lower lip.

"I think… I think we'll start with your mouth. Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips any more. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?"

I prepare to lower the blade and slash it across her throat, but as I am about to she spits forcefully in my face. Suddenly she isn't Katniss anymore, as for some unknown and irrational reason, her action reminds me so sharply of my nightmare and how I had done the same to Augustus, that I am immediately transported back to that horrific place. I shake my head to clear the image but it doesn't work.

The logical part of me knows I am seeing Katniss when I look down, but the rest of me blocks out the girl's face as all of the suppressed emotion of the past three weeks bursts out of me and replaces it with something else, something that is all of my worst enemies, dead and alive, all rolled into one defiant, mocking sneer that I cannot escape.

I see Augustus, not as the broken man I left back in the Capitol but as the powerful, unstoppable version created in my mind by the tracker jacker venom, I see Cassius, the man who sought to replace Cato and was killed by my lover at his reaping trials because of it, I see Gaius, he whom I hated above almost any other, the man who murdered my half-sister. Then I expect to see Peony herself, the girl who was my responsibility, she whom I should have protected, however it is not her I see but our father, the man who haunted my childhood and set me on the path that ultimately led me to this place. I hate him for that and for so many other reasons besides, and it is with his image in my mind that I lower the blade not to Katniss's throat but back to it's original position at her lower lip.

"All right, then. Let's get started."

I feel the tip of the knife puncture her skin just as I am suddenly lifted violently into the air. For a fraction of a second, until my mind properly processes what is happening, I think that it's Cato, but then I abruptly realise I am wrong. The man who holds me in the air like I weigh no more than a feather is every bit as strong as my lover, but I don't need to look down to see the mahogany brown skin of the arm that is clamped like a vice under my chest to work out that it is someone else entirely.

Even with my back pressed painfully into his chest to the extent that I can't turn to see his face, I know instantly that my momentary lapse into insanity has allowed District 11 this opportunity to take advantage of my weakness. I struggle with all my strength and feel an unfamiliar panic welling up inside me when I quickly realise that I can no more break free of him than I can of Cato when he holds me and really means it. The thought of Cato makes me frantically scan the tree line, partly hoping he will come to save me and partly hoping that he will stay well away. I look between the trees, which are still cloaked in a darkness not yet breached by the dawn, willing him to appear and frantically fighting back my tears when he doesn't.

Even as I try desperately to come up with a plan to get out of this, my mind slips more and more into overload. I try to reach for a knife but Thresh's grip is too strong and his clenched fist digs agonizingly into the arrow wound in my arm, clouding my thoughts with pain.

I am still futilely fighting him when he flips me over and throws me to the ground with such force that even my small body makes the arena floor vibrate when I land. I hear a loud crack and it is accompanied by a burst of agony that I have never felt the like of before. I look down briefly to see my right leg is twisted at an unnatural angle beneath me, clearly broken. Even if I could focus enough to be able to, there will be no running away now.

The pain is so great that for a second everything fades to darkness as my mind reels from the shock, and when I return to reality, Thresh is towering over me, filling my vision entirely so I can see nothing else. Through the pain I hear him shout, and it takes me until he has finished speaking to comprehend what he said. What he accused me of doing. Rue. This is about her. He thinks I killed her.

"No! No, it wasn't me!" I shout, scrambling away from him, the pain every movement of my leg causes threatening to overwhelm me, making my hands shake so much that I can't even grasp the front of my jacket to help me reach for one of my knives to defend myself.

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her? You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

Thresh steps towards me, a huge stone in his hand the only weapon he needs, and I realise it's all over. This is it. And I can't even fight back. I am a true disgrace to District 2, and what is worse is that I am a disgrace to him.

"No! No, I-" Thresh takes another step forwards, his face expressing more rage than I ever thought him capable of as he raises the stone to strike, and I abruptly forget my pride, my desire to fight my own battles and my need to always be in control of my own fate. I abandon my thoughts of remaining dignified to scream at the top of my voice for the person who has always rescued me in the past, the only person I have ever loved. "Cato! Cato!"

"Clove!"

I hear his reply, and his voice is full of a desperate panic I have never heard before, probably in response to the same panic in my own call, but he is far away.

Then, I see Thresh raise his large arm and bring the rock down right where I lay. I roll out of the way at the very last second, and avoid the rock.

"Clove!" I hear Cato again, closer this time. Thank God. His tone is filled with worry, and a little bit of anger when he sees me on the ground.

I look up at Thresh, who has turned away from me to see Cato running towards him. I need to get up. Come on, Clove, get up. But there's no way I'll be able to move this leg. I sit up painfully and look for something I could use to hold my leg still. I have a strap on my leg that I use to hold knives. I pull it up so that it holds my right leg straight and in place. Every bone in my leg is screaming out, begging me to stop, but I have to help Cato. I pull myself off the ground and take two knives out of my coat.

Cato is taking stabs at Thresh, and I see that he cut him in the leg. Thresh has his back to me. Since I'm too weak to do anything fancier, I hurl a knife straight into his back. He turns around, his strange golden-brown eyes widened, and then drops to his knees. Cato and I both move cautiously toward him.

"You…." He chokes out, looking at me. "You will die. Fire Girl—she will kill you. And you will go straight to hell." He looks at Cato, then. "Both of you." He pauses to cough up blood. "You horrible…" his cannon fires. And then he's gone.

One down and three to go before me and Cato can finally go home, I think to myself.

**Cato**

I look up at Clove after a minute. Her eyes are still widened and her mouth partially open, staring at Thresh's now dead body. I wince when I see her leg, which is poorly splinted. It's already covered with nasty purple bruises.

She sighs, and it actually looks as if she's holding back tears. "Well, damn." She mutters, and then turns and starts limping toward the lake. I quickly grab our pack and follow, saying nothing. Unfortunately, Thresh had his pack on when the hovercraft took him up and I hadn't thought to grab it.

Katniss, of course, is gone. I don't blame Clove. She would have given the audience a good show, I know it.

Clove sits at the edge of the lake, and puts her head in her right hand. "Shit." She curses under her breath. "Shit, shit, shit, shit. I can't believe that just happened."

I stand a few feet behind her, not really sure what to do. She turns around after a long minute, wincing from the movement. "I'm so sorry." She whispers.

"W-why?" I finally stutter out.

She breaths a laugh. "Why? I just lost my chance to kill Katniss. I almost died. And I probably just lost us a crapload of sponsors." She shakes her head, turning back to the lake.

After a minute, I decide to go sit next to her. "Well, think of it this way. Thresh is gone. All we have to do is find that red-headed girl—the only thing she's good at is running away. If we catch her, she'd be easy to kill. And then there's just the lovebirds. We've got this in the bag, Clove. It doesn't even matter if we don't have sponsors. We'll be out of here in like, two days, tops." I punch her right shoulder lightly. "And you just killed the big bad Thresh all by yourself."

Clove smiles weakly. "I guess. I just can't believe I messed this up."

**Clove**

It's midday when Lyssandra appears.

I straighten up, stretching my arms over my head, when I spot her walking towards us. "Cato." I say, not taking my eyes off her.

He recognizes my expression and he turns, picking up the sword, and jumping to his feet. I grab two knives from my jacket and stand next to him, ready. Lyssandra continues to walk toward us, seemingly undaunted by the two killers right in front of her. Her red hair seems dull and her amber eyes are tinged with pink, possibly from crying. But no tears fall now. She's holding something in one of her hands by her side, but no visible weapons. She stops a precarious twenty feet away from us and we stare at each other.

Lyssandra smiles at us. It's so out of place that I raise my eyebrows. She has to know that she is about to die. Why is she smiling? Lyssandra raises her hand, holding it out in front so we can see what she's got. Her smile grows wider. Triumphant.

Berries. Six small round berries, as dark as night. I gasp, recognizing them just as she brings her hand to her mouth. She winks once and she tosses the nightlock in, chewing quickly and determinedly, still smiling at us. My arms fall from their throwing position as I watch the girl swallow her death. Her body seizes up, then, and she coughs. Her smile turns to a grimace as she collapses. Cato and I stand there, staring at her, as she convulses once, and then twitches and shudders for a few more moments, then she goes still. Lyssandra's cannon fires.

Now it's just Katniss and her half-dead Lover Boy standing between us and victory. Oh well, we have done enough today. Tomorrow we will hunt and finish off district 12.


End file.
